


Moments Left to Steal

by asha noir (Kanja)



Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: F/F, Minor Spoilers, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanja/pseuds/asha%20noir
Summary: When Aerith falls, Tifa is always there to catch her.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 9
Kudos: 200





	Moments Left to Steal

The sewers are a minefield of rickety, uneven panels and sheared bolts half stuck out of the ground. Aerith seems to have a particular talent of finding each and every one. It doesn't make any sense; everywhere else, Aerith is as sure as the look in her eyes, like she's seen everything in the world that could possibly happen and has found a gentle peace in all of it. They've only just met, but Tifa believes with all of her heart that Aerith knows more than she'll ever let on, more than she could ever possibly explain to them. And yet she keeps stubbing the toe of her boot on lifted corner panels, magically divining her way toward every grate that is eroded enough to fall with a splash upon the barest hint of pressure. Every time, without fail, Tifa catches her. 

Now, she is extra alert. They've left Cloud behind and Tifa still isn't quite sure whether that was a good idea or not. Doesn't even know why she asked Aerith to come out here with her. She sees the way that Aerith looks at Cloud—and he at her—and the worst part is that Tifa isn't sure who the gnawing jealousy scurrying through her gut is aimed at. 

But she doesn't need to think. Life has been complicated for a long, long time now. It's always easy to fall into a job and fall away from the relentless grind of regret, from the claustrophobia of being so very trapped in so many bad decisions. And they have a job, so this should be easy too. 

The issue is that Aerith makes it too easy. Tifa hears a sharp, "Ah!" and her arms shoot out immediately. They wind very smoothly around Aerith's hips, drawing her in and away from yet another rattled grate, and Aerith looks up at her with those eyes that make her face burn Firaga-hot. It's like nothing can hide behind that look, like Aerith can see every thought that Tifa's ever had, like she's savoring every fresh, free memory and mourning the dreary ones all at once.

This time, Tifa doesn't relinquish her hold on Aerith as quickly as all the times before. It's difficult because every time, Aerith falls into her arms a little more easily, with a little more trust. She's leaned against Tifa's chest now, the weight of her body so soft, so gentle, just as prettily delicate as the floral scent drifting from her hair. There aren't many fragile things beneath the plate. Just Aerith and the flower on the counter back at Seventh Heaven, and it hasn't taken much detective work on Tifa's part to deduce that both those things are the same in some way. 

Aerith's jaw is lifted, her lips parted like she's expecting to have something to say very soon. She has a line for everything. She's quick and sharp and beautiful and Tifa feels like she could burst into tears on the spot over how frustrating that is. 

Her heart pounds a dangerous rhythm against her chest, like it's ready to break free at anytime, spill blood hot and heavy all over the front of Aerith's lacy little dress. Tifa keeps herself perfectly still, trains herself not to move, not to look, but her gaze keeps fluttering to Aerith's sweetly-curled lips. The glint of gloss sears her vision. Her own lips tingle like they've been fast asleep for decades and every nerve is coming alive at once. 

Aerith pushes herself up, the toes of her boots creaking, her lips too close to contend with. "Do it," she says. Tifa opens her mouth and thinks the reason why is to ask what, what exactly Aerith wants from her, from Cloud, from any of them. Instead, she finds herself pressing forward. Aerith's eyes slip closed as Tifa kisses her, too hard, too hungry, but she can't stop looking. She finds lips too soft to believe, a body too eagerly pliable beneath her fingertips. Her mind does impressive acrobatics trying to find a shred of regret about what she's doing. But Cloud— she thinks, and Aerith's elegant fingers clench around her shoulder and everything else just fades away. 

This time, no one stumbles as their boots thunder across the grate. Aerith finds the concrete wall first, her back gently crashing against it. There's no protest on her lips, no push, no sound but something sweet and lilting. Tifa wedges a knee between her legs before she has a second to think about what she's doing, and even then Aerith's breath catches high and dispells every instinct she has but the one to grind in slow. Her muscles flex as Aerith's prettily manicured nails rake over her shoulders and flirt with the scooped line of her top. Tifa isn't sure whether it's a tease or genuine hesitation that gives her cause to linger there, but her back arches and her chest lifts and then Aerith is raking it down until Tifa's breasts spill free, heaving with every hurried breath she takes. 

Whatever Tifa was expecting, it isn't Aerith's cat-like grin, flashed for a second before she bows her head and locks her lips around a nipple, suckling with a rush of spit that leaves Tifa's chest tight and trembling. Her knee knocks into the sweet heat between Aerith's legs and she's rewarded for it by a moan pressed to skin that thrums all the way down to her thundering heart. Tifa's fingers find her hips, loop around the calligraphy curve of them, and hold her tight for the next jostling strike. 

Aerith is just panting into her skin, riding Tifa's knee like she's been deprived of it for long enough. She pulls her own skirt up, hikes it high, so that the hard clench of skin and bone to the soft cotton of her panties has Tifa's knee coming up a little wetter with every rub. 

"Don't stop," Aerith says, voice as high and free as an aria pitched to the heavens. Tifa sends her back against the concrete, knocking the breath out of her in jagged little gasps. She kisses the corners of her lips, just enough to not disturb the trembling confessions streaming from her lips, her octave-climbing chant of, "There, yes, Tifa, oh, oh, oh—" Aerith doesn't let her take it from her, she's all snapping hips and dripping flesh bearing down. There's so much slickness splashing over Tifa's knee that it makes her dizzy. 

Under her hands, Aerith finally falls to pieces, shivering hard all over. The rocking motions of her hips turn drunk, go all over the scant range of motion that Tifa's hands allow them. Aerith's mouth turns into a blindly questing thing, and Tifa helps her find her way into a kiss, lets her fall from the wall into her arms all over again. She stumbles back a step as Aerith's long legs wrap around her hips, trusting without question that Tifa will catch her and be strong enough to hold her. 

She is. Aerith sighs pleasantly into the crook of Tifa's shoulder, her fingers still shaking as she toys with the curled, extra soft hairs at the back of her neck. "You kept me waiting for so long," she says. 

Reality hits Tifa like a bad whiff of stagnant sewer air. "We've only just met." She says it, but some inexplicable instinct compels her not to truly believe it. 

Aerith turns her face into Tifa's skin, so buried that her response, slow to come, is a muffled vibration. "I suppose that's true."

"We have to get back. Cloud—" Tifa says, but her voice dies on that word. Her fingers are working through Aerith's hair, possessively, like a child reluctant to share a toy. 

"He's a big boy and we only have so many moments left to steal." Aerith exhales, long and soft, as Tifa's arms tighten around her. Before Tifa has time to reflect on how bittersweet it all is, Aerith is lifting her head, pressing a smile to her lips like she's passing it along. And it works, because all the sadness in the world is soon forgotten once Tifa pulls away and sees nothing but sunshine and a verdant expanse in her field of vision, Aerith as gentle and sweet and cheerful for no good reason as ever. 

"One day," Aerith says again, her tiny boots swinging and swinging and swinging until they finally touch ground again, "we're gonna go shopping above the plate."

The fierce burn welling in Tifa's eyes says otherwise, but she smiles through the sear of it and extends a hand. "If you don't trip into sewage first."

Aerith flicks her tongue out at her and runs ahead. Tifa follows in hot pursuit, ready, as ever, to catch her if she falls. 


End file.
